Color It Red
by The-Music-of-hands
Summary: Every time they meet, they manage to say what they need to, in the only way they know how. -Reno-Yuffie-


**Color It Red**

_Between you, and me, there is nothing more vibrant._

_**I.**_

Slowly, as the church empties and she sits, her grey eyes seemingly speculative over the water and the yellow petals, a hand slowly squeezes her shoulder. He's not compassionate, and he's not the Jesus gentleman, and his tongue is a flask of venom while his eyes are hardened from death and self-loathing. However, nevertheless, he's above her, ten feet tall compared to her, and she's just on the ground, contemplating what she will do and he stands with one hand placed on her shoulder contemplating whom he will have to kill next.

Even after she goes back to her country and he goes back to his smoggy apartment somewhere halfway across the world, they hold a simple understanding.

They each hold a memento.

Her hair band a bloody red, the crimson shades of his new tinted sunglasses.

The blood red of war, the blood red of her country's color, the blood red of her lips and of his hair as he makes a comment, lifting an impish grin as she chuckles passionately in response, her hands and his wrapped around sweaty skin.

He kills, she leads, and before all of that, they want to forget

So, she sits in that church and he stands, both staring at their reflection shimmering in the water.

He can see the strip of her scarred skin from the torn tank top, and she can see the bruises adorning his palms from landing too hard.

She can see him peppering kisses over her shoulder as he leans down, whispering her name in the angled crevice of her throat.

He can see her running hands through his messy undignified hair, lingering at the scars under his eyes before going to the nape of his neck and ghosting her fingertips against the sensitive skin.

She sees herself slowly leaning back, and losing once again to him—as if always they were in some sort of knotting strangling relationship…

And he sees his reflection losing himself to her smiling eyes, limp and lifeless, and suddenly, as he loses himself even more, he finds that somehow, he _wants_ to bring life into them.

So, kissing the edges of her lips, his finger tracing little circles into the small of her back, he gives her life the only way he knows how.

By giving himself to her…

Likewise, under her hands and mumbling voice, she does the same for him…

_**

* * *

**__**II.**_

Now, it's ten years later, and instead of her smooth form, she's been hardened and trained, she's been through the worst.

She's a leader, dressed in longer looser shorts, and a lower jacket, refusing the quantities of silk that accommodate her position. She is still cheerful, but sometimes, she finds herself forcing it to the point of shuddering.

It's ten years later, and she's lonely, all forgetting everything _but_ him. She still keeps the color red in her bedroom, not just any red, but a color that is _his_, through and through. So bright and dark, and full of energy...

The blood of the people he has killed and the red of his cheeks and the dominant red of his hair as the sunset reflects against it, making it _glow_ against her pale shuddering skin.

That is the red she has in her heart, the red that _he's_ made of.

And in the course of ten years, she can still sometimes touch that spot on her shoulder and if she tries hard enough to recollect through all the haze, she can feel the warmth and tightness of his hand calmly on that spot.

However, she finds that with every year, it fades, and the energies in her eyes fade a little more.

So, it's been ten years, and then, without any words, or information, because by damn she's surprised when she opens the door because she's supposed to be the sneaky one—not _him_—he's just standing there. His face has been hardened, new scars decorating the pale skin on his hands, stress lines near his eyes, and his lips rough and chaffed from constant worrying.

It's also his eyes, hardened and dark blue, not glassy just worn.

But as her eyes drift over his face, they go to the thing she remembers most, and it's still mostly the same. It's thinned a bit, she realizes, and faded a bit too, but it is still uncombed and it's still red, and it's still a part of _him_ that she never forgot. Alternatively, never will forget since he has probably risked his life coming to _her_ doorstep and it would be a risk to let him out again, so she'll probably just keep him inside to herself forever, or until one of them dies first.

She tells that to him, a wry smile edging his lips and as she waits for him to reply, he speaks back the only way he's known how.

She thinks that she's just imagining it, as he pushes her into her house and his foot carelessly slams the door closed as their noses touch. He hasn't kissed her yet, but he speaks, his voice rough and tired, and seemingly strained as his eyes flick over her angled cheeks and her dull eyes. He thinks that she's grown up and he's grown up, and he's waited ten years, the longest he's ever managed to wait for anything, and finally, he's tired of hiding and waiting for her to speak first.

He tells that to her, and then breathes in shaky confused gulps, preparing to say the thing he has probably always wanted to say to her.

Then, before he has a chance to continue, she presses her lips roughly against his and to the mirror on the side, she sees her flushing red cheeks and his red hair flicking into her face, and smiles tentatively against his skin.

She wants to tell him she loves everything that he is…

And he wants to whisper in her ear that he wants to be with her forever…

Therefore, as they kiss, ignoring the pain, the stress, and the overall color vibrancy of the room, they close their eyes, and tell each other exactly what they want to say the only way they have ever known.

_End_

_A/N:_

_I had a very different pairing in mind and a totally different story plot running through my head, but oh well. This is, I have to say, is better than the thing it was supposed to be in the beginning. Three cheers for Yuffie and Reno. _

_TMoh_

**_Disclaimer:This is just to confirm that I do not own Final Fantas Vll or anything to do with it. Well, this story has something to do with it, but that is besides the point. I'll just have you all know, I don't own it._**


End file.
